Victor's POV
My legs gave out.
One second I was standing, something I hadn't done in five years, and the next I was crumpling down the floor. My knees hit the marble floor hard enough to send shockwaves of pain up my spine, but I barely felt it.
Because Sharon was standing in my doorway.
Sharon.
My Sharon.
Dead Sharon.
"This can't be," I whispered, my hands pressed flat against the cold floor. "This can't be. This can't..."
"Vic." Her voice cracked on my name, that old pet name only she'd ever used. Her hand reached for me, trembling. "Vic, it's me. It's really me."
I couldn't breathe. My lungs had forgotten how. My heart was slamming so hard against my ribs I thought it might burst through my chest and splatter across the floor between us.
Behind me, I heard Jenkins's sharp intake of breath. "Dear God."
"No." The word tore out of me. "No. You're dead. I buried you. I..."
